


R Is For Revenge

by TheGreatCatsby



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, FrostIron - Freeform, Frostiron Bang 2013, M/M, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark falls in love with spy Loki Laufeyson. He can't stand the thought of losing him, but it is all too likely that he will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	R Is For Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! I'm so excited to finally be posting this. This AU is inspired by the James Bond films. I'm so happy that I got to participate in this year's Frostiron Bang. 
> 
> Speaking of which, be sure to check out Tumblr user lightneverfades's artwork for the story. It's amazing, and includes a film trailer and a poster!

“Please don’t tell me they’ve escaped.” 

Tony frantically types lines of code into his computer and a map appears onscreen. 

“They haven’t escaped,” Loki says, his voice sounding breathless in Tony’s ear. “I’m chasing them now.” 

“If you’re chasing them, they’ve escaped,” Tony points out. His heart is racing and he hasn’t even left the office. 

“Oh, then I suppose they have,” Loki says. “Your words, not mine.” 

“You have that gun I gave you?”

“Of course I have that gun you gave me.” 

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to be unprepared.” 

Loki chuckles. “I am never unprepared, Stark.” 

“Right,” Tony says. “I have you on the map.” 

“Too late,” Loki murmurs. “I’m seeing them. I’m going in.” 

“No, wait, you’re outnumbered,” Tony cries. 

But Loki walks into trouble, as Loki does. And Tony watches, feeling helpless despite the fact that he can hack into the computer systems of basically anything. 

Shots ring out, sharp reports of static in the earpiece. 

“Loki,” Tony growls. 

He wants his gun back in one piece. 

It would be preferable if Loki also came back in one piece. 

“Sentiment, Stark, will get you nowhere in this job,” Loki had said once, in-between kisses to Tony’s neck. 

Tony hadn’t listened. 

His heart clenches as he waits for Loki to respond. 

Then, “Stark, I’ve got them. Two tied up, three dead.” 

“You don’t fuck around,” Tony remarks. “I hope my gun is fine.” 

“I might have misplaced-“ Words are cut off by a sudden choking sound. 

And silence. 

“Loki,” Tony says. 

Silence. 

“Loki,” Tony says again, louder. 

Silence. 

“Loki,” Tony yells. 

Static. 

Loki’s signature disappears from the map in front of him. 

If Tony’s computer weren’t the only thing that could help him find Loki, he would smash it to pieces. 

**  
Relationships are forbidden. This rule applies to quartermasters, agents, and anyone else who works for MI6. It is the nature of the work, delicate and dangerous, that discourages relationships. And Fury’s wrath, which can be amazing to behold when it isn’t directed at you. 

But Tony doesn’t care much for rules, and Loki even less. Loki loves chaos, and as a field agent he gets plenty of it. He’s good at being stealthy, and at killing, and at extracting information, and even, if the situation calls for it, at diplomacy. He sows his chaos by out-thinking his enemies, by confusing them, by weaving a web of lies and half-truths and manipulating them to reach his end goal. Which is really the end goal of MI6, but they are technically one and the same. 

Agents must always be adaptable, must always be able to improvise, but Loki is a master at it. He seems to thrive on the quick thinking that being a field agent requires. 

He is one of the most active agents. 

When an agent encounters something that might inhibit their ability to conduct missions to the best of their abilities, they are considered compromised. 

Two things compromise Loki. 

First, his relationship with his quartermaster. 

Second, the revelation that Thor, the brother from the family he ran away from all these years ago, a symbol of the past he’s tried to forget, knows where he is and wants to talk. 

The first compromise Loki can live with. The second, he feels, is a true danger to his work. 

The first compromise starts when Tony is assigned to monitor all of Loki’s missions. Usually these tasks are delegated to other members of the Q branch, but Tony is a new hire. Fury says, “Loki’s smart for a field agent. I think you might actually be able to keep up with him. If he likes you, that’ll be a bonus.” 

They meet each other discreetly, at a square a few blocks away from the British Museum, sitting on a bench. 

Tony recognizes Loki from his files, tall and thin, with pale skin, long black hair, and sharp, bright eyes. 

When he sits down beside Loki, the other man continues to look at his surroundings, but a faintly amused smirk touches his lips. 

Quietly, Tony says, “I’m your quartermaster.” 

“Congratulations,” Loki says. “I’m afraid they don’t last long, but I do hope you enjoy the job while it lasts.” 

Tony places a black case in the space between them. “I’ll be working with you, while you’re on your missions,” Tony informs him. “Also, I got you a present.” 

Loki takes the case and opens it. His eyes light up at the contents inside, a small black gun and several bullets. 

“Scans your handprint when you hold it,” Tony says, “so only you can fire it.” 

“You have outdone your predecessor,” Loki murmurs, turning the gun over in his long-fingered hands. Almost reverently, he replaces the gun in the case, closes it, and then turns to Stark for the first time. 

Tony holds out a hand. “Agent Laufeyson,” Tony says. 

“Stark,” Loki says. They shake on it. 

Tony is surprised that Loki knows his name; most people don’t. It is something he prefers to keep private. Most of the staff doesn’t ask his name, and he doesn’t tell them. 

Except Loki. And Fury. 

Tony doesn’t mind as much as he should. 

**  
Loki returns Tony’s tech every time. Battered, broken, missing some pieces, but he makes a point to return it, if only to have Tony fix it, criticize Loki’s treatment of the tech and general carelessness, and then give it back. 

These visits are frequent and often come after a long and tense mission in which Tony tries to get Loki to do one sensible thing and then Loki ends up doing something completely different, resulting in frustration on Tony’s side. The job gets done, but not without a few edge-of-your-seat moments. 

These visits would have remained limited to talk about weaponry and arguing about agents and quartermasters, but Loki has different plans. 

“I enjoy your company, Stark,” Loki says, “but this place can be so…repressive.” 

“I haven’t seen the sun in weeks,” Tony says, absently checking the trigger function on one of Loki’s guns. 

“We should get tea,” Loki says, “or something stronger if you prefer.” 

Tony nearly drops the gun. He places it carefully on the table. He looks up at Loki, who is completely serious. “I would like that,” he says. Then, “Do you do this with all the quartermasters?” 

“No,” Loki answers. He starts walking away, but turns just before he reaches the exit. “The Black Swan at nine tomorrow night?” 

“Yeah,” Tony says without really thinking about it. 

Loki smiles a satisfied little smile and leaves. Tony looks back at his gun. Missions, he can do. Tech, he’s excellent at. But he hasn’t been to have drinks in a long, long time, not since his last girlfriend, Pepper, who couldn’t handle the prospect of being with someone so involved in dangerous missions and secrecy and the wellbeing of the country. 

Whatever Tony can or can’t do doesn’t matter. He ends up at the Black Swan to find Loki leaning against the window of the pub, a small establishment tucked in the middle of a pedestrian street. Loki smiles when he sees him, still wearing that suit he always wears on missions, and they go inside. 

There’s only one other customer and the bartender, a young woman with dark hair and glasses. Loki leans against the bar and the woman pushes her glasses up. 

“Loki,” she says. 

“Darcy,” Loki responds, smirking. “My friend and I would like drinks, if you aren’t too busy.” 

Darcy’s eyes slide over to Tony, taking him in. The smile she gives is one of approval. “I didn’t know you had friends,” she says. “What’ll it be?” 

“Gin and tonic,” Loki says, at the same time as Tony says, “Whiskey.” 

Darcy raises her eyebrows. “It’s a hard liquor night.” 

“It’s a hard liquor week,” Tony says. 

As Darcy gets their drinks, she asks, “Where do you two work, anyway?” She hands a glass of whiskey with ice to Tony. “What’s your name?” 

“Tony.” 

She turns again to get Loki’s drink and continues, “Loki never tells me what he does.” 

Tony takes a sip of his drink and grimaces. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. But I can tell you that I work in tech.” 

“Loki says he’s good with computers,” Darcy tells him, sliding Loki’s drink across the bar, “but he doesn’t work with them.” 

“Most of the time,” Loki says, catching the drink. “I leave that to Tony.” 

“Tony,” Darcy repeats with a smile. “So you work together.” 

“One could say we are a team,” Loki allows. 

Darcy looks surprised, but she quickly reaches for a glass and a rag and starts cleaning. “You never talk this much.” 

“Perhaps it’s the company,” Loki says. 

Darcy throws him a dirty look and Tony takes another sip of his drink. The whiskey burns his throat and stomach, then settles there, a pleasant warm feeling spreading throughout his body. 

“Look,” Darcy says, “be mean all you want. But remember at the end of the day I’m the one serving your drinks.” 

“I keep you in business,” Loki reminds her. 

“You keep my boss in business,” Darcy says. “I’m only trying to pay for university.” 

They continue their light banter, and Tony finds he likes it. It’s different than talking about serious things, like relationships. It’s different than leading Loki through the labyrinth of streets in any given city, away from or towards danger. It’s different than talking about weapons and showing off his genius. 

It’s normal. And it doesn’t require much thinking at all. 

When Tony finishes his second drink Loki touches his arm, says goodnight to Darcy, and leads him outside. He has a pleasant buzz and Loki looks different under the gentle yellow lights outside the pub He looks softer, less sharp angles and more pale tones, and his eyes are a welcoming green. 

“Allow me to walk you home,” Loki says. His lips are thin, pale. Tony can’t look away. 

“Allow me,” he murmurs, and then he steps forward. Loki backs into the brick wall of the building next to the pub, and Tony follows him, like in a dance, his hands upon Loki’s shoulders. 

“We work together,” Loki reminds him in a low voice. But he isn’t pushing away. 

“You invited me out for drinks,” Tony says. 

Loki’s lips twitch up, an inviting little smile. “So I did.” 

That’s all Tony needs. He closes the distance between them, his warm lips on Loki’s cool ones, and it feels right, it feels like magic, and he isn’t sure how they’ll get home but he doesn’t care. 

The kisses that come later are varied. Some are rough with lust and want and need. Some are soft. Some are quick, just a reminder. Some are long and filled with emotion, with love. 

But this kiss, right now, is curious, exploratory. Hands wander as they get to know each other. This is not a mission. This is not the fate of the country at stake. This is just two men discovering romance outside of a London pub. 

And it is glorious. 

Tony could give up his career for something like this. Almost did, some time ago. 

But Loki understands. Loki lives this life with him. 

When they stumble home, more like love-struck young boys than secret agents, Tony can forget responsibility. He has wanted someone. He needs someone. 

Loki steals a kiss from him on the train. 

So it begins. 

**

“Stark,” the solemn voice of Fury echoes in the empty room. Tony doesn’t bother to turn from his computer. “Stark.” 

“Busy,” Tony mumbles. 

Fury’s hand lands on his desk, dangerously close to his laptop. 

“Stark,” Fury repeats. “Go home.” 

“I have to find him,” Tony says. “I’ve never lost an Agent in the field before.” 

“You’re relatively new,” Fury says, “and there is a first time for everything. You won’t find Agent Laufeyson. His service has been terminated.” 

“What?” Tony looks up, finally, into Fury’s impassive face. “Why? We don’t just leave agents behind.” 

“He’ll be dead by now,” Fury says, as if stating that it’s going to rain later. “I needed Ten Rings to believe that we were no longer a threat. To do that they needed to capture an agent. Loki was that agent.” 

“You sent him into a trap,” Tony says, “on purpose.” 

Fury nods. “We don’t make easy decisions here, Stark. You have to remember that.” 

He was my-my- “He was one of the best in the field!” 

“He was,” Fury agrees, “but he was compromised.” 

“By what?” Tony asks. He hopes that Fury won’t say him. He hopes that Fury doesn’t know. 

Fury gives him a long look and then sighs. “By family. His brother Thor found him again. Wanted to reconnect. Loki wanted a long-term mission to disappear for a while. I couldn’t have him having distractions, all of our agents are good, and I needed to send someone. Loki is rash, Stark. His actions have been more erratic since he found out about Thor. So I gave him this mission.” 

“He thought you were helping him,” Tony snarls. 

“And so I was,” Fury says. “Stark, you knew what you were getting into when you signed up for this. Sacrifices are made. You don’t work in the field but I know you know that.” 

“That wasn’t right,” Tony says. 

“No, perhaps not,” Fury says, “but it says lives. Our agents will be able to infiltrate Ten Rings after they let their guard down, and we can gain information and eliminate the threat they present to the world.” He looks closely at Stark, sees the anger still there. “I don’t enjoy making these decisions, Stark. But they must be made.” 

“Right,” Tony says. 

“Go home, Stark,” Fury tells him. And then the sound of his footsteps retreat farther and farther until they become silence. 

“Right,” Tony repeats. His hands clench the desk and if he lets go he might fall.

**

“You should let me come with you,” Tony murmurs against the warm skin of Loki’s neck one night. 

They’re lying in bed, flush against each other and Tony can stay like this forever. 

Loki stirs against him. 

“You’re no good in the field,” he says. 

Tony scoffs. “I can shoot a gun just as well as anyone. It’s not all about computers, you know.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” Loki murmurs. 

Tony rises from the bed to get a good look at Loki’s face, relaxed and impassive against the pillow. 

“You’re lying,” he says. 

Loki frowns. “Why would you say such a thing?” 

“I know you’re lying,” Tony insists. “I know you don’t want me to go on the missions.” Loki says nothing and Tony gasps. “You don’t think I’m good enough. You think I’m a liability. You think-“

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Loki says, rising abruptly from the bed to better face Tony. “It’s dangerous.” 

Tony stares at him. His mouth is open. “Is that—are you—is that concern I hear, Agent Laufeyson?” 

Loki looks murderous. “Tony…” 

“I thought you had no concerns.” 

Loki’s expression softens. “I do,” he says. “You. I don’t want you in the field.” 

“You’re afraid I’ll get hurt,” Tony says. 

Loki nods, and then adds, “You are also a liability, but not for the reasons you think.” 

“Why?” 

“I’m compromised when I’m with you,” Loki says, and steals a kiss from Tony’s lips. 

And for the moment, that’s enough. 

**

The bed feels cold without someone to share it with. 

The bed has felt cold before. It always feels cold and unwelcoming whenever Loki is away on missions. Tony can’t sleep, so he tinkers with weapons and computers late into the night after Fury made him leave headquarters, and he drinks copious amounts of coffee during the day to keep awake. 

Most people would call it being in love. At MI6 it’s considered being compromised. 

But now in Tony’s dreams he sees Loki dead, tortured, begging for help, calling Tony’s name, and it’s worse than being in a cold bed. Worse because the cold might be here to stay, this time, and Tony can do nothing. 

At work they partner him with a new agent, even when Tony protests. “Look, she’s a spy based in Russia and we need our best working on her case,” Fury tells him. “If you’re going to stay you need to get used to loss.” 

The new agent is Natasha Romanov, codename Black Widow. She primarily provides MI6 with intelligence from the Soviet Union, but she also infiltrates other countries as well. She can speak several different languages, she’s a master at disguising her emotions and playing the parts of other people, and she can extract information even in the most difficult of circumstances. 

She’s also a really good fighter. 

Tony hates her. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but she reminds him of Loki. She’s good at everything Loki is good at. He is aware that most agents would have the same skills as Loki, and he would hate every single one of them. But he doesn’t want to be logical. He wants Loki back. 

Natasha knows about the loss. He knows from the way she looks at him, carefully. She doesn’t show emotion but he knows she feels sorry for him, in her own way. When they meet and shake hands she is nothing beyond formal. 

She doesn’t expect them to be friends, which is good. She doesn’t begrudge him his distance from her. 

So they run missions, but they aren’t as good of a team. Natasha seems fine on her own, and Tony isn’t inclined to be as hands on. 

He ignores the way people look at him, as if he might explode. 

(Because he might explode, and that scares him. It scares him that the absence of one man can make him feel torn open.)

**

Loki can’t cook, or make a good cup of tea, and he doesn’t care much about domestic things. To be fair, Tony isn’t good at being domestic either, but he learned a thing or two from Pepper back when he was trying. Like how to make pasta without burning it. 

Or how to make a good cup of coffee. 

Loki likes his coffee sweet, and Tony likes his bitter, but Pepper liked hers sweet so he knows how to make a good sweet cup of coffee. Which is exactly what Loki needs sometimes after a long day—something warm and comforting, the taste of home with a hint of caramel. 

“At some point one of us needs to learn how to cook properly if we don’t want to starve,” Tony says, trying valiantly not to burn scrambled eggs. 

Loki sips at his coffee thoughtfully. 

“Something wrong?” Tony asks. 

Loki takes another sip. “No,” he says. 

Tony sighs and continues scrambling the eggs. “You’re lying.” 

“I didn’t know you were so adept at catching lies,” Loki says, his voice slightly caustic. 

It’s a defense mechanism, and it’s not one Tony’s going to fall for. “I can be,” he says. “I work for the British secret service, after all. What kind of agent would I be if I couldn’t tell the difference between honesty and lies?” 

“A terrible one,” Loki says. “But what kind of agent am I if you can tell the difference between my lies and truths?” 

Tony takes the pan full of eggs and places it in-between them on the counter. He leans forward so that his face is close to Loki’s. 

“You’re not an agent with me,” he murmurs. 

Loki looks into his eyes as if searching for something, and then his gaze flickers down to the counter between them. “The eggs are getting cold.” 

Tony slams a hand onto the counter, startling them both. “I don’t care about the fucking eggs,” he snaps. “I care about you being able to trust me.” 

Loki bristles, stiffens in his seat. The coffee rests by his now-clenched hands. “Tony,” he says, a warning. 

“No,” Tony says, “don’t lie to me. What’s wrong? Because something is wrong, I know it.” 

“I,” Loki says, careful to enunciate clearly, “am hungry and tired, I would like to eat my dinner in peace without being interrogated about my moods.” 

“I’m not interrogating you!” Tony groans. “This is what people do when they’re in relationships, Loki. They trust each other with things. They tell each other stuff. I’m allowed to worry-“

“About what?” Loki asks, standing up. “About a simple non-response to an equally simple statement?” 

“It wasn’t a simple statement,” Tony says. 

“Then what was it?” 

Tony runs a hand through his hair. He hates this. He hates this because it’s a leap, and he doesn’t know if Loki will go for it. “I want to be with you.” 

Loki’s expression darkens. “You are with me.” 

“No, but like, where we can cook for each other in a house. Together. More than just a casual fling. A serious long-term relationship where I can imagine us living together and being secret agents who have sex but also being domestic. I want to share every aspect of life with you.” A pause. “I love you. That’s what that means.” 

Loki stares at him, face carefully blank. He is oh, so good at crafting his expression to hide emotions, but Tony doesn’t want that. He wants to see Loki’s emotions now, laid bare in front of him like Loki’s body naked in bed. 

Instead, Loki turns and walks away. The bedroom door slams shut. 

Tony pours himself a generous helping of whiskey and moves into the adjacent room to sit and drink and refill and try to forget. 

After a few hours Tony is acutely aware that Loki hasn’t left. Loki is still here. Part of him feels hopeful, and the other part of him that eventually wins tells him to pour himself another whiskey because he’ll need it, because this endless night will end and he’ll be alone. 

He can’t think of seeing Loki at work or talking to him over the comms and knowing what could have been, of the life they almost had. Tony doesn’t take leaps of faith with people often. Playing with emotions is more dangerous than playing with guns and explosives. He learned that with Pepper. He learned that before Pepper. 

He’s learning it with Loki, now, all over again and wishes that he’d been more careful. That he’d pulled the pin on the bomb, thrown it, and run in the opposite direction. That he hadn’t thrown it at all. 

A pair of arms wrap themselves around Tony’s neck and for a split second Tony imagines that he’ll be dead in a few seconds, choked by his own foolishness. But the arms are gentle and real and breath whispers past his ear. 

“I’m sorry,” the voice says. 

Tony closes his eyes and wonders if he isn’t dreaming. 

“I’m a fool,” Loki continues, quiet into his air, never breaking contact. “I want it too.”

“Really?” It could be the whiskey. 

“Am I lying?” Loki asks. 

And Tony knows he’s not. Tony knows this is Loki’s leap right here. Loki has given Tony the gun. Tony could fire it. 

Tony says, “no.” 

Loki presses a kiss to his neck, warm and apologetic. 

The rest of the night is made up of impressions, of soft sheets and soft touches, caresses and whispered words of love, so unlike the sharpness of daytime and their snark and their guns, Loki’s lies and Tony’s weapons. All those things disappear and they are left in bed, naked, caressing each other and never wanting to leave. 

**

“Stark.” 

Natasha presents him with her gun, safely tucked into its open case. Tony takes the case and takes out the gun and examines it. Perfect. 

“How was it?” 

“Excellent,” Natasha says, a small smirk playing across her lips. 

“It’s in good condition.” 

“I know.” 

Tony looks at her. 

Natasha’s weapons are never broken when she brings them back in. She has no complaints. Tony almost wishes that one of the weapons would need fixing. Loki’s weapons were often broken. It is another difference. 

“Why do you come here if you don’t have anything that needs fixing or replacing?” Tony asks. 

“To see you,” Natasha says. “An agent and her quartermaster should have a good working relationship.” 

“We do.” He closes the case with the gun inside and pushes it back towards Natasha. 

Natasha doesn’t take it. “You don’t like me,” she says, instead. 

“I do like you,” Tony argues, but he doesn’t look at her. He looks at the sleek black case holding the gun that only she can shoot, the gun that’s come back time and again in perfect condition. 

“Liar.” There’s no inflection in the word. It just is. “You miss your previous partner.” 

“So what if I do?” It’s a little defensive, but Tony isn’t Natasha. He isn’t as good at hiding. 

“Forming relationships in this line of work isn’t healthy,” Natasha says. “We get compromised. You focus less. I haven’t said anything to Fury.” 

Tony now looks at her. Stares, actually. “Why?” 

Natasha looks past him. “I’m compromised.” 

“You want me to keep your secrets?” 

“I’m keeping yours.” 

True. Tony’s hands clench and unclench. “Why?” 

Natasha swallows. “I understand. I know an agent, an American. I have a relationship with him. Luckily, the Americans are our allies. But I know that we tend to suffer many losses, and attachment is a luxury we can’t afford.” 

Tony searches her face. She could be lying to him. She makes lying into an art. 

But he thinks she isn’t. 

“But you got attached.” 

“We aren’t supposed to be compromised,” Natasha tells him, “but sometimes we are.” Then she takes the case with the gun and walks away. 

Tony turns back to his computer and remembers all the times Loki told him how dangerous their relationship was. But he never sounded afraid, or upset. Just delighted. 

Loki liked breaking the rules. 

Tony isn’t sure what he’s looking at on his computer screen, but he stares at it for a long time. 

**

Covered in soot with a torn suit and blood staining his pale skin, Loki looks terrifying, and beautiful. 

That doesn’t stop Tony from yelling at him. “You idiot! You could have been killed! What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

He’d known something was wrong when Loki disregarded his orders on the mission to find and diffuse a bomb in the middle of London put there by some domestic terrorist. “Capture him, bring him in, diffuse the bomb,” he’d said. 

Loki diffused the bomb and engaged the terrorist in a fight, and then, after nearly being gutted, killed him. 

As they walk through the halls of MI6, Loki is livid. Fury evidently tore into him about killing someone with potentially important information and acting rashly against orders. Loki hadn’t taken it well. 

Tony stops and shoves Loki into the men’s bathroom, empty at the moment. He traps Loki against the counter in front of the large mirror. “What the hell were you thinking?” 

Loki is breathing heavily, and everything about him screams anger and rage and uncontrolled emotion. 

“Fuck,” Tony snaps. “Is this because of Thor? Please don’t tell me this is because of Thor?” 

Loki gives him a smile that’s just on the edge of crazed. “We all get compromised.” 

“No, no,” Tony says, “we don’t.” 

“We are right now-“

“That’s different. You being compromised with me doesn’t make you nearly get killed.” 

Loki takes a few deep breaths. Tony can feel his body shuddering beneath his hands, adrenaline running low and disappearing along with the last of the rage. 

“He can’t find me,” Loki breathes. 

“You can’t keep taking it out on your missions,” Tony points out. 

Loki’s eyes search for his and lock on. He licks his lips. For a moment Tony wonders whether he’ll be yelled at or thrown to the floor or silently walked out on. Loki is capable of getting angry at less. 

Instead, Loki surges forward and his mouth is on Tony’s and his hands are all over Tony’s body, tearing at his clothes, heedless of the blood. 

Later, they will wash off the soot and the blood. They will mend torn clothing. They will talk. 

But for now they lose themselves. 

It is what they need. 

**

Tony is walking back from lunch on the south bank of the Thames when it happens. When it happens, he can see it. Much of the city can. 

The nondescript cream-colored building with few windows that is meant to be the headquarters of MI6 explodes. 

Tony stops. So does everyone else walking across the bridge. He can hear them—some of them are murmuring, some yelling, some crying. He can hear the sound of sirens starting up from a distance. 

He can hear himself yell, “Shit!” 

And then he starts running towards the flames. 

A few streets over, he is winded, but he wants to keep going. He can’t, because policemen block the roads. “I work there,” Tony gasps, holding up his ID card, “I work—need to see—my coworkers.” 

“I’m sorry,” the nearest officer tells him, “but it would be hazardous for you to go in there. We’re clearing the area. It would be best for you to go home.” 

“My coworkers,” Tony pleads. 

“I’m sorry,” the officer says, and turns away from him. 

Tony stands there. He can smell the smoke, sharp in the air. He can hear the sirens. 

His cellphone rings. 

He picks it up. “Yes?” 

“We have a situation,” says Fury’s voice on the other line. 

Tony nearly falls over with relief. “You’re alive?” 

“Yes,” Fury says, “and I need your flat. You coming or not?” 

“I’m—yeah. I’ll be right there.” Tony hangs up and stands there for a moment, taking a deep breath. 

Then he runs for the nearest tube station. 

**

Loki pours over the details of the latest mission. “This seems terribly mundane,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. 

They sit in a café, which is weird. Top secret agents reading top secret mission details, and they’re sitting in a café in the middle of London like it’s the most normal thing in the world. 

“Then can I come with you?” Tony asks, a little more seriously than he’d like. 

Loki gives him a look from above the papers. 

“No, then,” Tony sighs. “Fine. You’re boring. If it’s so easy just send me to do it and you could do my job. I’d actually bring back the weapons in one piece.” 

“Without me you’d have no job,” Loki says, not taking his eyes away from his papers. 

“I would,” Tony says, “and it’s called weapons development. For every agent of MI6. My job doesn’t revolve around you.” 

“Agents are ever so expendable,” Loki murmurs. 

Tony nearly chokes on his coffee. “What did you say?” 

Loki looks up again, frowning. “I said, agents are expendable.” 

“Don’t say that,” Tony says. “You’re not.” 

Loki doesn’t respond, just goes back to reading his papers. 

“Hey,” Tony says, “look. I know this mission is easy and maybe the next will be easy but when it gets hard don’t ever think you’re expendable. Because you’re not. Maybe to Fury you are. We all are. But you’re not to me.” 

Loki looks up at him again, thoughtful. He places the papers and the coffee cup on the table. “If I am not expendable to you, then I will not be expendable at all,” he says. 

“Great.” Then, “wait, what does that mean? Are you saying that just to make me feel better?” 

“You’re smart, Stark. Figure it out.” 

“Okay. Okay.” Tony takes a sip of his coffee, which isn’t nearly as warm as it should be. “Just don’t pull what you did last time. No unnecessary risks, okay?” 

“I assure you, my anger is well and truly sated,” Loki says. 

It doesn’t occur to Tony that Loki might have lied. 

Not until later. 

**

It takes Tony half an hour to make a ten minute trip to his flat due to all sorts of closures and traffic caused by the explosion at MI6. When he gets to the apartment, he finds the door already open and Fury sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea in his hands and another cup and saucer set out opposite him. 

“I didn’t know you could make tea,” Tony says, shutting the door behind him, locking it, and taking a seat. 

“I didn’t get this job by being incapable,” Fury says. “Now, MI6 was just attacked. Bombed. We’ve relocated to our backup headquarters. Your team is settled in.” 

“That was fast,” Tony remarks. 

“We are nothing if not efficient,” Fury says. “So, who did it?” 

“I don’t know,” Tony says, frowning. “Why? Should I?” 

“You monitor the terrorist networks. Is it Ten Rings? Anyone else?” 

“I haven’t seen anything that would indicate an attack,” Tony says, thinking back. “I mean, I could have missed something.” 

“You have been off your game lately, according to Agent Romanov.” 

“Natasha is wrong,” Tony says, even though he has been off his game and his team’s been picking up the slack. 

“I wanted to debrief you,” Fury says, “and I need to know that you’re on top of your game. I need you to be in top shape. We have to find out what happened. I’m leaving for headquarters now. We haven’t managed to salvage everything, so you might want to head over to our old headquarters in the morning. The police’ll give you clearance if you have your ID. We can’t have your stuff getting leaked. Then you get to work.” 

“Wait. Who’s working on it now?” 

“Your co-workers.” 

“Why do I get a whole night’s rest?” 

“Because,” Fury says with a long-suffering sigh, “I want you to rest, and to come in ready to work, and to work hard, and to not let what happened color your work. Because it has been coloring your work. If you’re not ready, I am prepared to let one of your teammates take over the job. I’m giving you time to think, Stark. Take it. And ask yourself, can you do this?” 

“It’s just a normal job,” Tony says. 

Fury raises an eyebrow. “Then I should see you tomorrow morning.” He stands up and walks past him. Tony hears the door open and shut. 

Tomorrow, he will start in earnest. Tomorrow he will be a new quartermaster. Tomorrow he will let go of Loki. 

Easier said than done. 

**

The next morning, after a restless night filled with discomforting dreams, Tony makes his way to the sight of the old MI6. The building isn’t burning anymore, but it’s a small comfort when the interior is what the police call “unstable” and “badly damaged and burnt” and when Tony sees it, he wants to be sick. 

Because MI6 is meant to be impenetrable, and this wreckage makes it clear that they are not.

Luckily, the explosion occurred closer to Fury’s office than to the offices of the Quartermaster, so Tony’s equipment has been saved, for the most part. He did have a drive containing important information locked in Fury’s desk, and so this is where he goes first, to retrieve it. 

Fury’s office is charred, and the police have already marked off which areas are safe to be in and which are not. An officer escorts Tony, who notices that the desk is splintered, contents scattered all over the room. He searches for a large piece of metal, finds it, and picks up the ash-covered hard drive. 

“This would survive a nuclear war. Made it myself,” Tony says to the nearest officer, clearly proud that the drive is still intact. The officer doesn’t respond. 

Tony heads down to his own offices anyway, just to make sure that his teammates and Fury didn’t miss anything in their likely hasty sweep of the office upon leaving. 

The office is too quiet, with rows of desks once full of people now empty. Tony shivers; it feels cold. Most of the machinery has been removed from the room except for a few routers. 

There is a post-it note on his desk.

Tony walks over and picks it up. 

There is a crude drawing of a skeleton sketched on the note with black ink. 

Tony stares at it. 

“What.” 

The lights go out, plunging the note and everything else into darkness. 

“Hello?” Tony calls. No response. 

He strides out of the room and ends up outside moments later, where the officers are still gathered, the area cordoned off by caution tape. He asks them, “Did you all turn the power out in there?” 

They shake their heads, looking confused. Tony decides to forget about it and head to the new headquarters of MI6. 

After all, he wants to prove to Fury that he can do his job again.

He keeps the post-it note in his pocket. 

**   
The new (or back-up, as more cynical agents would say) headquarters of MI6 is located underneath the Tower of London. Hidden in plain sight, as it were. 

Everything is more intense under there. There are no windows. The lights are harsher. There is more stone and a more medieval feel to the place and less modernity, and even though Tony has only been in this place once or twice, he can already tell that he won’t like the harshness or the chill of being underground. 

He misses his old working space already. 

He finds Agent Hill and asks her where Fury is. She says, “He hasn’t left the office since this morning.” 

Tony makes his way to the office, where the door is closed. He knocks. 

No answer. 

Knocks again. No answer. Tries the knob. It’s locked. 

“Fury,” Tony calls, “it’s me. Um. I’m taking you up on your offer? Just wanted to check in. Are you even in there?” 

Silence from the other end of the door. 

“Fury?” Tony takes out one of his lock-picks, a terribly simple device that, nonetheless, has proved useful in his line of work. “Fury?” 

No response. 

Tony picks the lock and the door swings open. 

The office is empty. 

Tony walks in, slowly. Nothing is disturbed. Fury’s laptop sits open on the desk, almost as if Fury had gone for a bathroom break and forgot to close it. 

Which doesn’t happen. 

Tony walks around to the other side of the desk and freezes at what he sees. 

“Shit!” 

Staring back at him is a skeleton outlined in black and colored in a bright, neon green. 

It looks like the post-it note from earlier. 

There is no other message. But it can’t be good. 

Tony runs out of the office and nearly barrels into Agent Hill, who turns on him, looking angry, but he cuts her off with, “Fury’s been taken.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“He’s not in the office and there’s this…symbol on his computer. You said you didn’t see him leave. Neither did I.” 

Hill follows Tony into the office and looks at the computer screen. “Can you get anything from this?” 

“Depends.” Tony takes her place in front of the screen and starts typing a few lines of code that have hacked into many a device. He can’t get them to work. Hill watches him and he says, “I don’t see how they could’ve gotten out of the office without leaving through the door. Did anyone see Fury leave with someone strange? Was someone watching Fury’s office the whole time?” 

“I saw him enter at four in the morning,” Hill says, “and I doubt that had Fury and his captor, or just Fury himself, left the office they would have been able to leave the building undetected.” 

Tony types something else into the laptop. The computer has been wiped. “This place was built as a temporary headquarters, right?” 

“Yes,” Hill says. 

“Then I’m assuming it has some of the same safety tech.” 

“Most of it.” A pause. “There are other ways to get in and out of a room, hidden entrances. But would his captor know that?” 

“How else would a potential captor get in?” Tony asks. 

“Or,” Hill adds, “perhaps Fury saw the message and left” She frowns. “But Fury wouldn’t just leave. He would alert everyone else and put us on maximum security. He must have been taken. The problem is, whoever took him has to have been in here before. They would have an extensive knowledge of MI6.” 

She levels Tony with a grim look. Tony breathes out, slowly. “They would have had to work here,” he says. 

Hill nods. “You know how the tech works. Open the emergency exit. I’m going to alert the rest of the staff.” She turns and leaves. 

Tony moves away from the desk to the walls and starts feeling along the surfaces, occasionally knocking lightly. He eventually finds a hollow spot and uses his lock pick to open it, admiring how the panel blends in so perfectly with the wall. 

Once open, the panel reveals a number pad. Tony types in a string of numbers representing the emergency code for MI6, and the wall starts to split apart in front of him, panels sliding to the sides and up and down until the wall becomes a door leading down a dark corridor, sloping downwards. 

“Well,” Tony says. 

He isn’t sure whether he should go forward or stay back and wait for instructions. He’s not a field agent. He is unused to doing anything beyond tech development. 

He hasn’t even got a gun on him. 

He rummages through the drawers in Fury’s desk and finds a small handgun, one of his own inventions, and holsters it. It isn’t the best option, but it will do on short notice. On the desk, he leaves a note to Hill that says, “Went into corridor. Have earpiece in and tracking device can be used on computer.” 

Hill won’t be happy. 

Tony goes into the corridor anyway, because if he doesn’t he knows he’ll feel useless. 

**

Tony’s journey through the corridor-underground-tunnel leaves him confused and a bit discouraged. He comes to two exits to the streets of London and there are plenty more: the place is a maze and at this rate Fury could have been taken anywhere. 

On his way to a third exit, the earpiece crackles to life and Hill’s voice pierces the silence. “Stark, you are an idiot! Why would you go down there by yourself, without any backup, without telling anyone-“

“I told you.”

“On a scrap of paper, Stark! This is highly against protocol-“ 

“Screw protocol, we need to find Fury.” 

“Do you have a plan, Stark?” Hill asks. 

Tony swallows. “No. Just looking around and hoping I find something.” 

“And if you do?” 

“I have a gun.” It sounds weak. 

Hill sighs. “Stark, you are not a field agent. I’m sending Romanoff after you. Stay where you are.” 

“Muuuuum,” Tony complains. 

“You’re lucky nothing happened. Stay there.” 

Tony does as Hill says and waits. The tunnels are quiet, and he can hear his own soft breathing. It’s relatively well-maintained, better than the sewers Loki once claimed having to trudge through in Paris because some mastermind decided to make his lair amongst the rats. 

He tries not to think about Loki. 

And fails. 

One time Loki had a mission that took him through the London Underground system, where he nearly got hit by a train, ran into several annoyed construction workers and ended up somewhere under the Thames when his quarry decided to attack. The attack and ensuing fight threatened to bring the tunnel down and water crashing over their heads, drowning them. But Loki was clever and never went in for just shooting and exploding things without a plan, and this was no exception. 

Which was great. Fury would’ve gone ballistic had a tube tunnel been destroyed that day. His field agents often caused too much damage, which cost MI6 a lot of money they would rather not hand out. 

Afterwards, Loki had told Tony that he needed to make him something to allow him to breathe underwater. “If I die because some idiot decides to blow up an underwater tunnel, I’ll blame you.” 

“You can’t blame me. You’ll be dead.” 

“I’ll find a way.” 

Tony shivers at the memory. He doesn’t feel blamed, but he does feel hollow. He wishes that Loki had found a way, because it would be better than the absence of him from everything. 

And every emotion and memory is getting to be a bit too much when footsteps start to echo down the hall, and soon Natasha appears, dressed in black and holding a gun, something which Tony hadn’t done but realizes that he should have been doing. Because most times an enemy wouldn’t even give you the chance to draw. 

He stands up and Natasha greets him with a swat on the cheek. “Idiot,” she says. “You don’t go without backup.” 

“They sent Loki without backup,” Tony does not say, because he needs to stop thinking of Loki again because he’s finally been coming back to himself, and Natasha provides him a distraction. 

Instead he says, “I’m not a field agent.” 

“Exactly.” She hands him the gun and draws her own. 

They start combing the tunnels together and it’s interesting, holding a gun in his hand and working with someone by his side rather than being surrounded by the dull glow of computer screens and the harsh overhead lights of an office. 

“Do you like fieldwork?” Tony asks. “Because a lot of agents retire after a few years.” 

“I like taking action,” Natasha tells him. “Not sitting around on the sidelines.” She throws Tony an apologetic look. “Not that what you do is just sitting around. But I can’t help indirectly. I need to be in the middle.” 

“Direct. Got it.” 

“If I were behind a desk, or a computer, I would feel like I didn’t have control.” 

Tony swallows. He’s felt that. “You can’t control everything,” he says. 

“No.” Natasha rounds a corner and he follows. “But you can do a hell of a lot more controlling in the field.” 

And Tony wishes that being behind the computer would give him ultimate control. He could play God to the field agents, and they would listen and he would keep them safe. 

But that isn’t how life works. 

They reach another exit. 

“Interesting,” Natasha says. She leans forward and picks up something off the ground. “It’s coordinates.” 

Tony glances at the numbers on the paper and takes out his mobile phone, opening it to a locating application he developed himself. He types in the numbers, written in green ink. And frowns. “It’s in Norway.” 

“Norway,” Natasha repeats. 

“In the forest. Deep.” He looks at her. “Fancy a trip.” 

Natasha takes the paper away from him and heads out the exit. Tony follows and immediately a plane flies low overhead, landing on a runway not too far away. 

They’re at the airport. London Heathrow. 

“Oh, we’re here,” Tony says, “Might as well take a flight and not waste any time while we’re at it.” 

Natasha’s already talking to Hill over her earpiece. “I need two tickets to Oslo from Heathrow and I need you to look up information on the coordinates I’m about to give you. Ready?” 

Tony watches another plane land and feels his heart beat faster. He’s really doing this. He’s taking on a field mission, and not as a Quartermaster, but as Natasha’s partner. Her backup. 

Perhaps he can prevent her from coming to harm in a way that he couldn’t prevent Loki from dying. 

Natasha stops talking to Hill and gestures for him to walk with her to the nearest terminal. It isn’t far. And the walk and the airport and the planes are just another welcome distraction. 

**

As they sit in a van provided by some friends of MI6 in Norway, Natasha says, “It’s a trap. This person, whoever took Fury, wants us to find them. Otherwise they wouldn’t have left the messages, or the coordinates.” 

“I guess we have no choice but to spring the trap,” Tony says. 

Natasha looks at him, but he can’t tell what she’s thinking. “It’s dangerous,” she says, “even though we do it all the time. We know it’s a trap but we don’t know what kind, or what they intend to do with us, or whether or not Fury is alive. It is one of the worst kinds of missions you can get as an agent.”

“I know,” Tony says. “I work with you, too.” 

“You know, but I want you to understand what you’re getting into.” 

Tony nods. She’s worried. Agents rarely show how worried they are, but he knows they do worry. Loki had hated assignments that involved deliberately heading into a trap, even more than ones that ended up with him inadvertently heading into a trap. It seemed to go against every instinct an agent had.

And yet they still went forward. 

“What kind of employee am I if I can’t risk a little danger to help my boss?” Tony asks. 

Natasha laughs. “A good employee, or a bad one, depending on your point of view.” 

The van stops. They’re at a helicopter port at the edge of a vast forest, and outside the air is cool and Tony knows that from here on out there is no talking. There is doing. 

And it’s dangerous. 

But somehow it doesn’t matter as much as it should.

**

They take a helicopter into a forest and the pilot finds a clearing near enough to the coordinates they were given so that they can walk. Tony can use a fancy GPS on his phone to help direct them, and Natasha seems grateful for the technology. “Sometimes I forget it’s not all fighting.” 

“You can’t shoot your way through the forest,” Tony says, and he starts leading them into the trees as the helicopter disappears into the sky. 

“I’m not like some agents,” Natasha says. “I don’t shoot everything I see.” 

Tony frowns at that. “I don’t think most do.” 

“Some can get a little trigger-happy. Barton, for instance. He has great aim but he uses it too much.” 

Tony remembers Barton’s requests for various unique types of guns that could shoot anything from gas to arrows, never mind bullets. Most agents were content with silencers and handprint recognition. 

“Barton is special,” Tony says. 

They stumble through the trees. This is a deep part of the forest, where bushes and smaller saplings line the floor and there is no clear path. There are plenty of obstacles to trip them up, and there aren’t even any man-made traps. 

Yet. 

Tony doesn’t realize he’s far ahead of Natasha until she tells him to stop. “Let me take the lead,” she says. “There might be traps and we’re not far.” 

“Of course,” Tony says, gesturing for her to go ahead. It’s kind of relieving, in a way. He has no idea what he’s doing, no matter how excited he is that he’s doing it. 

Natasha walks in front of him and they proceed for a few more minutes, and a flash of white appears between the trees. Tony nearly bumps into her in his haste. 

“Patience, Stark,” she says. 

Tony falls back a little, but by the time they reach the white building, windowless and built with high, thick walls like a fortress, they haven’t come across any traps. 

“Strange,” Natasha says, but she looks deeply suspicious. One of her hands rests on her holster. 

Tony stares up at the building. There is only one entrance, a thick metal door. 

“Do you get the impression we’re just supposed to walk in?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Natasha says, “which is exactly why I don’t want to. We need to find another entrance.” 

“What if there isn’t one?” 

“There is. There always is.” And she leads the way past the side of the building with the door and around the back. 

“The thing is,” Tony says, as Natasha scans the walls for any indication of any opening, “whoever took Fury gave us the coordinates and showed us the way. They’ve practically spoon-fed us everything. Shouldn’t we take advantage?” 

“Do you have a plan?” Natasha asks. 

“No,” Tony admits, “but, okay, we’re going to end up in the trap anyway.” 

“I’d rather not just walk straight in,” Natasha say. “I want to have any advantage I can. Even if it’s an illusionary one.” 

“Right.” Tony follows her around the back of the building, where Natasha steps carefully. And then she retraces her steps. And then bounces on the balls of her feet in one particular spot. 

She kneels down and feels the grass with her hands. It looks like the rest of the grass surrounding the building, a little yellow but mostly green, with bits of weeds starting to grow in patches. Then she starts tearing at the roots with her hands. 

Tony kneels down and helps her, because he’s worked with MI6 long enough to know that when an agent starts tearing at the ground it’s not because they want to do a bit of gardening. After a few moments they uncover the equivalent of a trap door, made of metal. 

Natasha finds the opening mechanism, which consists of a keypad. 

Tony motions for her to move aside and types in a string of numbers that he thinks might be the answer—the coordinates of their location. With a hiss, the keypad accepts his passcode and the trapdoor swings open. 

“That was too easy,” Tony says. 

Natasha glares at the opening. “Whoever it was figured we’d come this way.” Then she smiles, with only a trace of humor. “Time to spring the trap!” And she jumps into the opening. 

Tony is more careful and uses the ladder to climb down into the corridor. Lights flicker on when Natasha lands on the ground, and Tony sees that they’re in a complex network of tunnels, with several pathways they can take. 

“Well, then,” Tony says. 

Behind him, Natasha clicks the safety off her gun. 

“Pick one,” she says. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Tony goes for the one that leads straight ahead. Natasha takes the lead and Tony, after a few moments, decides that it might be a prudent idea to take out his gun, which he does, though he is not quite as fierce about pointing it at things as Natasha. 

Natasha takes them around corners, and there are doors lining the halls, all closed. At one point they come across a staircase and have the option to go up or down. Natasha opts for down. 

After a few more minutes Tony says, “Don’t you think it’s weird that this building is empty?” 

At which point, Natasha rounds a corner and something explodes, filling the corridor with smoke. 

“Fuck!” Natasha snarls, placing a hand over her mouth. But it’s too late—they’ve already inhaled the smoke, and Tony feels the world tilting, his balance slipping, and he staggers and bumps against the wall. Ahead of him, Natasha is a shadow that falls to the ground. 

And then he falls, too. 

**

Tony wakes to water dripping on his face. 

He opens his eyes and his lashes scrape against something and he can see little pinpricks of light coming through cloth. Blindfolded, then. And he can’t move his hands, which feel numb. Tied up. 

He coughs. His mouth his covered, too, but he can still talk. It would come out muffled. 

He wonders what one ought to do in this situation. Whether or not he should call for Natasha, or if she somehow escaped and alerting his captors to her presence would ruin her plans. 

He coughs again. 

And an unfamiliar female voice says, “Ah. He’s woken up. Maybe he’ll be more forthcoming.” 

“He doesn’t know anything,” says a more familiar voice. Natasha. There goes that plan. 

“He works with you,” the other woman says. “Of course he knows something. What’s your name?” 

“Quartermaster,” Tony says, because he can. 

“That isn’t a name.” A sharp slap stings his cheek and snaps his neck. He shudders, trying to recover, hating the unexpected. 

“That’s who he is,” Natasha says, sounding impossibly calm. “But I don’t think you need our names. After all, you lured us here, leaving clues all over the place. You want to show us something. So what is it? Is it Fury? Is it some grandiose plan to bring down the country?” 

“You assume much,” the woman murmurs. “But no, we need nothing from you. As of this moment, your systems have been compromised and your most important information has been taken from your computers, ready to be sent to the highest bidder. Infrastructure, military secrets, government information, economic information, all ready to be sent at the slightest provocation.” 

“What do you want?” Tony asks. “And how did you get all of that?” 

“In due time,” the woman says. “As it stands, you two will serve as the main negotiators of MI6, along with Fury. We thought that Fury would not be…qualified to speak on behalf of the whole of MI6 by himself, so we’ve lured you two in to help him. After all, MI6 is not a dictatorship. Or is it?” 

“So Fury’s alive,” Tony says. 

“Perhaps,” the woman murmurs. 

“Who are you?” Natasha asks. “You seem to know all about us.” 

“I know nothing about you,” the woman says, “other than that you work as agents for MI6. I don’t know your names, though we assumed that the agency would send its best to retrieve its leader.” 

“We,” Natasha says. “Who are we?” 

“I am Amora,” the woman says. 

“That isn’t a real name,” Tony says. He can’t help himself. 

“Are any of our names real?” Amora asks. “Says the man who calls himself Quartermaster?” Tony can feel his face turn red, because, well, point. “It doesn’t matter whether this is my given name or not. It is the name I take.” 

“Well, Amora,” Tony says, “are we just going to sit here, blindfolded, or are we actually going to meet the ‘we’ behind all this and negotiate?” 

“In due time. I must make a report that a Quartermaster and an unnamed female agent have arrived to rescue their leader. By the way, I think you might find that Fury is not worth rescuing.” 

“Worth doesn’t come into it,” Natasha says. “This is a job.” 

“Of course it is,” Amora says. Tony hears the sound of heels (a brave choice, for someone who might have to fight) clicking across the room and then a door shuts. 

“Well-“ Tony starts, but Natasha cuts him off. 

“We’re being recorded.” 

“Good assumption,” Tony says. “Any guesses as to who the big bad is?” A pause. “Just because we’re being recorded doesn’t mean we can’t talk.” 

“Whoever it is knows a lot about MI6, if what Amora said is true,” Natasha says. “If they can hack into our systems and gain information, secret information, about the country, we’re in trouble.” 

“Who would defect?” Tony asks. “Is it someone who left or someone who still works there?” 

“A double agent,” Natasha murmurs. “The problem is, I can’t think of anyone.” 

“Then someone who left,” Tony suggests, but half-heartedly. People don’t exactly leave MI6. They get an office job within the organization, or get another highly important secret position. 

Or die. 

“Fury has a lot of enemies,” Natasha tells him, “but not within the agency itself. He’s made sure that most of his personnel, if not all of them, have very little to lose in the way of personal relationships and attachments. There’s less of a chance that something terrible happens to someone an agent cares about and they blame it on Fury.” 

“Some of the agents have families,” Tony points out, thinking of Loki. 

“Did they have good relationships with those families?” 

“No,” Tony admits. He himself counts as someone who wasn’t an orphan, but his parents both died a long time ago, and he never had a good relationship with them, anyway. He thinks about Natasha. “I guess you don’t have a family?” 

“No,” Natasha confirms. “At least not one that I’ve ever known.” 

“Not even MI6?” A soft snort comes from Natasha’s direction and Tony can’t help but grin. “Yeah, I know. That was stupid.” 

“It’s dangerous,” Natasha says. “Families, relationships.” She trails off on the word and Tony imagines that she would look away from him had they been talking face to face. “Sorry.” 

“Part of the job,” Tony says. “You’re smart. You made sure it doesn’t have to be.” 

“Am I?” Natasha asks. It sounds like a rhetorical question, so Tony doesn’t answer. After a few moments, she adds, “Sometimes I think about what it would be like to have a relationship. Not a family. I don’t want children. But someone to come home to. Some place to call home.” 

“I think we chose the wrong career,” Tony muses. 

Natasha sighs. “Or the right one. I don’t know what else I’d do.” 

“Not be tied up in a chair, for one thing,” Tony says. 

The door opens again and heels click across the floor. Tony feels someone untying him from the chair, though his hands are kept tied together tightly enough that he still can’t feel them properly. 

“Excellent news,” Amora says as someone else behind him, because she’s in front of him from the sound of her voice, pulls Tony to his feet. He assumes the same is being done to Natasha. “We’ll be starting negotiations! Now, I know you’re worried about your boss. But don’t worry, he’ll be there too. Come along.” 

The barrel of a gun at his back forces Tony forward, and he’s led through a disorienting series of turns until someone in front of him opens a set of doors, and then he’s forced into a different room. The air feels cold, and he shivers. 

“As you requested,” Amora says, “Mr. Quartermaster and the female agent.” 

“Thank you, Amora,” says another voice, male, and strangely familiar. It makes Tony’s heart start beating faster but he isn’t sure why. “You may do as you please.” 

Amora’s heels click until she ends up some distance away. 

Then a third voice, Fury’s, says, “Are you going to give us real answers now?” 

“So eager,” the man says, a strange inflection to his voice. Something like excitement, but also anger. “I doubt you would be so eager if you knew what you were dealing with.” 

“What am I dealing with?” Fury asks. 

Tony wants desperately to be able to remove his blindfold. The voice nags at him, bothering him, but the wording also bothers him. What. Not who. What. 

“A ghost,” the man says, softly, from somewhere behind Tony. Then a sigh of breath brushes past Tony’s ear and it feels like the past.

Because someone used to do that to him, whispering naughty words in his ear. 

He shudders. A ghost-

“I am sorry,” the man says, and Tony’s blindfold falls away, taken by gentle hands. 

For a moment Tony can’t see anything as the light dazes him, and cold hands take him by the arms and turn him around so that he’s facing someone whose face comes into focus slowly, by seconds, until a series of whites and blacks reform into a coherent image. 

The sharp-featured, pale face of Loki stares back at him, eyes hard and mouth forming a resolute line. 

A ghost. 

**

They never found a body. 

Tony put his brain on standby when it came to anything having to do with Loki and his death. He doesn’t remember the funeral or the hours that followed. He doesn’t remember what happened to all of Loki’s things, especially the ones that were in his apartment. 

He remembers that they never found a body, but he never thought about it. He just assumed it was at the bottom of some ocean or river somewhere, or in the woods, rotting. He didn’t dare allow himself to believe that a lack of a body meant that the body wasn’t necessarily dead, because that would be foolish. That was a child’s dream. Tony had lived too long to believe in such things. 

He’d dismissed the idea to the point where he almost forgot that Loki’s body wasn’t buried at his grave. He assumed it was, if he thought about it. He imagined it there, in the coffin, resting, because he couldn’t imagine it anywhere else. Because that was what made sense. That was the easiest way to deal with this. 

Fury had said that they couldn’t send anyone to recover a body. It was too risky and there was no reward. 

It was heartless. 

It was practical. 

It was Tony’s job, and all that it entailed. It Loki’s job. It was their lives, it was their deaths. 

And death wasn’t worth risking another life. 

Life, however. Life was a different story. 

**

Tony’s knees give out, and he cries, “Fuck!” But he is powerless to stop himself from falling. 

Loki catches him, and Tony immediately pulls away from him and stumbles back. “Fuck,” he whispers, “fuck, fuck, fuck-“

“What’s going on?” Natasha asks sharply. “Are you okay?” 

“Cut the crap,” Fury snaps. “Tell us what’s going on. Stop messing with our agent.” 

But Loki ignores them both and takes another step towards Tony. 

“You’re not real,” Tony says. 

“I am,” Loki tells him. Something like sorrow crosses his face, but only for a moment, and then his expression changes and becomes…nothing. 

“What are you doing?” Tony asks. “How-“

Loki hums. “I imagine Fury can tell you,” he says, and turns on heel, striding towards Fury. He pulls off Fury’s blindfold so that his head jerks forward, and when Fury manages to focus on Loki’s face he, too, takes a step back. 

“It is nice to see you,” Loki says. 

Fury’s eyes narrow. “I see.” 

“I’m sure you do,” Loki murmurs, before turning and striding towards Natasha. He is gentler with her, but still not as gentle as he was with Tony when he removes her blindfold and tosses it to the floor. Natasha looks at him without emotion, only resignation. As if she worked it out before he removed the blindfold. And she probably had. 

“Now there are no more secrets,” Loki continues, standing in front of all three of them. “Now we can see each other for what we are.” 

“And what are you?” Fury asks. “A traitor.” 

Loki grins. “A monster.” 

Tony swallows against a too-tight throat. No. 

“Why?” Fury asks. 

“You know why,” Loki snarls, grin disappearing behind a wave of pure anger and hatred. “You are the cause. Tell them, Director. I know you have figured it out.” 

“It isn’t Fury’s fault,” Natasha speaks up. “You knew what you were getting into when you signed up.” 

“Someone has to be responsible,” Loki says. “Fury should not be able to play with our lives so carelessly. I did not sign up to be used as a lamb for slaughter.” He takes a deep breath. “But, I wish I had been.” 

“What are you talking about?” Tony asks. His voice comes out as a croak. 

Loki doesn’t look at him. 

“He’s alive,” Natasha says. “That means…” 

“Torture,” Fury says. 

“You knew,” Loki snarls. 

“Yes.” Fury raises his chin. “It was necessary.” 

“And this,” Loki says, waving an arm to indicate the room they stand in, “is necessary. In fact, I find many things necessary since I escaped. And we shall see how necessary you are.” 

“Don’t,” Natasha says. 

Loki turns on her. “Do not tell me what I should and should not do,” he snaps. “I will decide what is necessary and what is not, and you will listen.” 

“What do you want?” Natasha asks. 

“Fury,” Loki says, “to resign as the head of MI6 and I take him as my prisoner. And I will walk free.” 

“That is a lot to ask,” Natasha says. 

“I have a lot to offer,” Loki says. “I managed to gain valuable information from MI6. As you must have figured out, it is because I worked there. I can send that information to anyone. It would be unfortunate for state secrets to end up in the wrong hands.” 

“How?” Tony asks. His mind races. He remembers telling Loki about the intricacies of MI6’s computer systems, how some of them were deceptively simple, and how he had improved others so that they became devastatingly complicated. 

Loki ignores him. “I will give you twenty-four hours to consider this,” he says. “You will be able to talk amongst yourselves, but if there is any attempt at escape I will not be kind. There will be no agreement. Do I make myself clear?” 

Tony’s throat closes. 

“Yes,” Fury growls. 

Guards come and drag them away. Tony doesn’t even glance over his shoulder, forced forward as he is by the guards. Loki doesn’t look at him as he leaves. 

In the cell, they are silent for a time. And then Natasha says, in a hushed voice so that the guards won’t hear, “We can’t give him what he wants. There is no negotiation. He’s asking for too much.” 

Tony finally finds it within him to speak. “Maybe we can reason with him. He used to work with us.” A pause, then to Fury, “Did you know he was alive?” 

“Yes,” Fury says. He doesn’t look away from Tony. He doesn’t look guilty, and it makes Tony feel dizzy. “But as I said before, it was too much of a risk to the operation to get him back.” 

“A life isn’t worth saving,” Tony snarls. 

“We need to concentrate on what’s happening now,” Natasha reminds them. “Look, he said he’ll release the information if we try anything, but we also have someone here who’s good with computers. Who can erase the information.” 

“If I can find where he’s keeping it,” Tony says. “He’s smart. It won’t be easy.” 

“But you’re smart, too,” Natasha says. 

“And then we take him in, with force,” Fury says, “if we have to.” 

“He’s anticipating this,” Natasha says. “He can’t have put us together without knowing we’d try something.” 

“We don’t have our weapons,” Fury says, “but if we can knock out the guards we can get them.” 

“What if we just try the negotiation?” Tony asks. They both look at him. 

“Do you honestly think that’ll work?” Natasha asks. 

Tony nods. “He’s still Loki.” 

Natasha looks sad. 

Fury says, “We can’t bank on what Loki’s gonna do. But we can control what we do. If we take action, we all have to commit.” 

Tony nods. “I’m in.” A pause. “But I can’t kill him.” 

“Hopefully you won’t have to,” Natasha says. 

“Now come here,” Fury says, “put your back to me. And let’s see what we can do about the rope.” 

**

It takes them an hour to maneuver themselves in the correct ways to wriggle out of the intricate ties of Loki’s ropes that bind their hands. In a way, it is more complicated than getting out of handcuffs, where one would simply break a thumb to escape. Here, they have to work with each other to untie the rope, and the rope is strong and tight, and their hands are clumsy, having lost feeling. Anyone less determined would not have managed it, but soon they are free. 

Natasha goes to the front of the cell, where she observes that the guards stand far away, too far to see exactly what they have been doing, but also too far to reach. She calls one over and he comes, looking annoyed. 

“I was wondering,” Natasha says sweetly, “it’s quite hot and I’m really thirsty. Do you have any water.” 

The guard leans into the bars. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says. 

“Thanks.” Natasha grabs him by the shirt and slams him against the bars of the cell, so that his head hits them with an audible bang. He slumps, and she grabs both his keys and his gun and uses the body as a shield, tossing the gun to Fury as the other guard points his own gun at the cell. 

Fury wastes no time in shooting the second guard before he can raise the alarm. 

Natasha drops the body and works the key, and soon the doors release. They ransack both guards for more weapons and come away with knives and three more guns. Tony takes one. Natasha and Fury commandeer the rest. 

“Find the information,” Fury says. “I’ll distract Loki and his guards for as long as possible.” And he runs down the corridor. 

“Come on,” Natasha says, leading Tony in the opposite direction. “I think we can get the info out of somebody.” 

Tony turns the safety off on his gun. It feels cold and cruel in his hand, too heavy. But he follows Natasha. 

**

Natasha finds another guard not far away from their cell and threatens him with slow and painful dismemberment if he doesn’t tell them where the center of Loki’s stronghold is located. The guard quickly complies, which makes Tony happy, because he really doesn’t want to see dismemberment. Ever. 

When Natasha knocks the guard unconscious she asks, “Did you get that?” Tony nods. “Good. I’ll cause more distractions elsewhere. I’m assuming you can defend yourself if need be but hopefully Fury and I will keep the activity away from you. But hurry.” Tony hesitates. “Go!” 

He runs down the corridor and Natasha disappears in the other direction. 

With the guard’s directions fresh in his head, it takes Tony only a few minutes to reach the central area of Loki’s stronghold, and he keys in the code that the guard gave them. It works, and soon steel doors slide open to reveal a network of computers to rival those at MI6. 

Tony walks in and looks for the controls. He finds them and immediately begins hacking in. He decides to proceed in the quick-and-dirty fashion: erasing everything on Loki’s hard drives and cloud drives without actually checking to see what he’s erasing. There’s no time to look for individual folders, and knowing Loki, he’s hidden them on his systems really deep. 

He starts the process. And then hears a sigh behind him. 

He turns. Loki stands there. His eyes flash with something—betrayal—before his face goes blank. “Stark,” he says. 

“No.” Tony takes a deep breath. “Don’t do that. We’re not strangers.” 

“Are we not?” Loki takes a step closer. “You are working for the side that hurt me, that left me to a fate worse than death. The Tony Stark I knew would not do that.” 

“The Loki I knew wouldn’t be doing this,” Tony counters. 

“They made me this,” Loki snarls. “MI6. Ten Rings. Fury. They killed the Loki you knew.” 

Tony doesn’t want it to hurt. But it drives a shard of ice into his chest all the same, painful and cold. He could bleed to death on it, if he wants. “You destroyed MI6.” 

“They destroyed me,” Loki growls. He is too pale. “Stark, look at what they’ve done.” He takes a step closer and rolls up his sleeve. 

A network of dark scars mars his pale skin, snaking their way up his arm. Some look like gashes or cuts, and others looks like they run deeper, following the rivers of Loki’s veins. Then Tony looks up at Loki’s face. His eyes burn with barely controlled emotion and anger, but Tony notices the skin that surrounds them. It is marked by strange white scars that radiate outwards like liquid running down the sides of his face. The area underneath his eyes is bruised. More, small discolored scars surround Loki’s lips. 

And this is what healing looks like. Tony doesn’t want to imagine the time it took to get here, or the time spent making those scars. 

“Do you see?” Loki asks. 

And he does see. He does. And yet. “Revenge won’t change anything.” 

“You are soft,” Loki snaps. “Fury has taken you in and you cling to him like a child in need.” 

“That—it isn’t true,” Tony protests. “This is my job, Loki. Whether or not I agree with Fury, I’m here to protect the country I serve.” 

“Ah, yes,” Loki murmurs. “A betrayal against a country is worth avenging much more than a personal betrayal.” 

Tony swallows. This isn’t going well. “You could come back,” he says. Loki’s eyes narrow. “Maybe not to MI6. Definitely not. But with me. I can help you if you just stop this madness-“

“This,” Loki cuts him off, “isn’t madness.” 

“Stop,” Tony repeats. “I can help you.” 

“You help me out of your desire to help Fury,” Loki says. “Do you remember what we once were?” 

“No. Don’t play that card,” Tony snaps. “I remember. Do you? Because this works both ways. You’re betraying me as much as I’m betraying you, never mind Fury. What you did doesn’t just affect him—it affects us all. And if you continue, you’ll put the whole country in danger. I want to help you, but I can’t if you insist on continuing with this, because it’s going too far.” 

“It works both ways,” Loki repeats. “What if you happen to be on the wrong side. You could join me, and we shall reap the benefits of Fury’s surrender. You are just as capable of helping me from my side.” He closes the distance between them and kisses Tony, softly. Tony leans into it, the feeling familiar, comforting, and for a moment he can forget that Loki ever died and then was resurrected into this stranger who wants revenge, regardless of the costs. Then Loki pulls away and looks into Tony’s eyes and says, “Or perhaps you cannot.” 

“Things have changed,” Tony manages. Loki has changed. “I can help you if you let me,” 

“I can’t sleep,” Loki says. It sounds almost like a plea. 

“If you come with me, I can lobby for you to walk free,” Tony tells him. “I can help you. I can leave MI6 and get a new job, but only if you don’t follow through with this.” 

“Conditions,” Loki murmurs, running a hand through Tony’s hair. “So many conditions for something so unconditional.” 

“Loki-“

Loki’s expression twitches, and his hand falters as it rakes Tony’s hair. Then he pulls it away, sharply, and hisses, “I can’t.” 

He steps away. 

Tony stares at him. 

Has he not wanted, for all the time that he thought Loki dead, for him to be alive and for them to have their relationship continue as before? Has he not wanted nothing more than to be with Loki? To love him? 

And yet Loki stands before him, and he cannot take the step forward. 

It’s Loki or his sense of conscience. And he hates, sometimes, that he has a conscience. Like now. 

“I need to be able to live with myself,” Tony says. 

Loki grits his teeth and looks away. And that stings. 

“So I’m sorry,” Tony continues, “but I think this is where we part ways.” He chokes on the last words, but as he says them he turns around and types the last line of code into the computer, and presses enter. 

Everything on the system starts deleting itself. Tony turns back to Loki, but he is gone. 

He stands among the dying computers for a moment, not sure how to proceed. He wants to sit on the floor and not get up for a while. But then he remembers Fury, and Natasha. The potential objects of Loki’s newfound anger. And he runs out of the room to find them.

**

“Never let your enemy out of your line of vision,” is a pretty standard saying at MI6. Tony feels somewhat stupid that he let Loki get away to parts unknown, and even worse is that he doesn’t know where his teammates are, either. 

For all he knows, they could be dead and he could be alone. 

He forces himself to stay calm as he runs through corridors past dead guards, reminds himself that it’s worth it despite the tearing in his chest. It has to be. 

He rounds a corner and hears someone yell. 

“We’ve called backup,” Tony hears Natasha say from behind one of the doors. He inches closer along the walls. “So you can tell us who you are and where you came from or we can force it out of you.” 

Tony peers around the door. It is the room where they first learned that Loki was the one behind the kidnapping. Natasha has Amora on her knees, gun pointed at her head. Amora’s eyes flicker towards the door and discover Tony. And then she smirks. “Ah, the lover.” 

“Your decision,” Natasha says. 

“From the looks of it, he didn’t surrender to you, did he?” Amora says to Tony. “You wanted to continue what you had before. But he’s not the same. And neither are you. He expressed so much anger that they would send you on this mission. On any mission. A quartermaster, of all people.”

“I’m not useless,” Tony says. “I decided to come. I was the one who discovered Fury was missing.” 

“And the one to discover Loki’s trap,” Amora says. “How clever of you. Perhaps the only one in the agency who could figure it out.” 

“I doubt that,” Tony says. “We’ve had some smart agents.” 

“Amora, stop wasting my time,” Natasha says. 

“I’d listen to her,” Tony adds. “She can be pretty scary when she’s angry.” 

Amora’s smile disappears. “I’ll take my chances with MI6.” 

“Cuff her,” Natasha says. 

Tony walks over and grabs cuffs that Natasha managed to steal from somewhere, attached to her belt. He finds the key, opens them, and puts them around Amora’s wrists before handing the key to Natasha, who pockets it with her free hand.

“One wrong move and I shoot,” Natasha says. 

A shot rings out from behind them. 

Tony jumps and whips around. Fury slumps to the ground in the doorway, and Loki lowers his gun. 

“One wrong move,” he says with a crooked smile. 

Tony expects a showdown. He expects yelling. He wants to yell at Loki, wants to beat him up, wants to berate him, wants to ask why he couldn’t just come with him and heal instead of this revenge. 

Another shot breaks the silence, making Tony’s ears ring and reverberating through his chest. 

Loki reels back and then falls to the ground. 

Tony’s own gun slips from numb fingers an he turns to Natasha, who still has her gun pointed at Loki. 

“It was necessary,” she says. 

Tony runs over to the two bodies by the door. 

Fury is already dead, his head blasted away from the impact of the shot Loki dealt him. Loki lies a few feet away, a puddle of blood growing on the floor around him. He’s been shot in the chest, not in the heart, but somewhere close enough that he will bleed out soon. 

He will die. Again. And this time Tony will have to watch. 

He kneels down in the pool of blood and grabs Loki by the shirt. Loki’s eyes roll and focus on him and Tony asks, “Why did you do it?” 

“You know why,” Loki murmurs. “This is what they made me.” 

“They didn’t make you anything!” Tony cries. “The fuck, Loki? This isn’t how you deal with things. You could’ve just come back.” 

Loki chokes, a strange sort of laugh. “I don’t think I know who I am anymore.” 

“What does that mean?” Loki doesn’t answer. He chokes. Blood runs from his mouth down his cheek and to the floor. Tony shakes him. “What are you talking about?” He lowers Loki to the floor and presses a hand to his wound, but the blood comes too fast, welling up between his fingers and coating them in red. 

Loki gasps and takes a weak sounding breath. Tony isn’t sure if it’s because of the pain or if it’s because he’s crying. There are tears in his eyes. 

“What does that mean, Loki?” he tries again. 

Loki’s eyes roll up into his head and the gasping stops. 

“You can’t help him,” Natasha calls from her spot guarding Amora. “It was meant to be a lethal shot.” A pause. “I’m sorry you had to see it.” 

Tony lets go of Loki and tries to stand up, but his knees give way and he ends up sitting on the ground inbetween Fury’s and Loki’s bodies. 

“Backup should be on the way,” Natasha adds. Then, softly, “You did well, Stark.” 

“Yeah,” Tony sighs. His eyes feel wet. 

**

Everything that happens next is like a dream. The authorities show up and Amora is taken away by several armed guards. Natasha and Tony fly back to London, where there is a debriefing held by Agents Coulson and Hill. There is a funeral for Fury, which the whole of MI6 attends, and a smaller one for Loki, which they do not. Tony struggles with the idea of attending Loki’s funeral and decides not to. 

“You can’t blame yourself,” Natasha tells him on that day, when he can hardly hold his cup of tea without shaking. “He died for you a long time ago.” 

And a traitor took his place. 

But Tony can’t help but wonder about what made Loki a traitor. Perhaps he was justified. Perhaps not. Everyone he talks to in the agency tells him not to think about it, because it will drive him mad. “Emotional detachment,” Coulson tells him, “is very useful for field agents, and I think you might find it helpful in your case as well. We deal with a lot of strange situations, delicate situations that are hard to handle personally.” He offers Tony some time off, but Tony doesn’t take it.

Still, there are times when he wishes he had known Loki was alive, wishes he could have rescued him. 

This time, there is nothing to clean up or give away. Loki’s belongings have been long gone, his mark on Tony’s life faded to almost nothing. Now it is a gash, an injury that still bleeds on occasion, that needs to be stitched up and forgotten about. 

And that seems cruel, that Tony should want to forget. But he does. 

After all, if he forgets Loki’s second death, the first will remain true. A horrible death at the hands of a horrible organization, but Loki will still be his Loki, a Loki who never betrayed his country, and a Loki he couldn’t have saved. 

Tony will rewrite history if he has to if it means that he can live with himself and move on. 

Natasha tells him, “It’s probably better that way. We all do it. Clint pretends he doesn’t have a family.” A pause. “I like to pretend that I went to school for ballet rather than what actually happened.” 

This is the first thing to pull Tony out of his self-hatred spiral, if only because Natasha has never been personal with him. He stares at her. “What actually happened?” 

Natasha sighs. “I was an orphan, trained to be an assassin from a very young age.” 

“And now you use your talents for good,” Tony says. Then his mouth twists; the words feel sour. “If we’re even on the good side.” 

“It’s the side we chose,” Natasha says, “whether it’s good or not. Although as far as countries go, we could’ve chosen worse.” 

Tony knows this. But still. “I should quit. Work for some tech company. Get a mansion and become a recluse.” 

“You like this job,” Natasha tells him. “You like the thrill, the excitement. Despite the costs, you like being in a position to do something. To affect something.” 

“For the right side,” Tony sighs. 

“You’d be wasted outside of MI6,” Natasha says with a small smile. “You’re more valuable than us, I think. More people can be field agents than can be quartermasters.” 

“I couldn’t be an agent,” Tony says. 

“I couldn’t be a quartermaster,” Natasha counters. “Look, it’s your choice, what you want to do. And I know it’s hard to be here after what’s happened. But at the same time, you have a clean slate. Fury’s gone. And no matter what you think of MI6, you think this is the right side.” She lowers her voice. “You didn’t take Loki’s side. And I know he offered it to you.” 

“He wasn’t right,” Tony says. “He’d gotten messed up.” 

“Still.” Natasha touches his shoulder, briefly. “Think about it.” 

And he does. 

It takes Tony a full two weeks and a few days back at the office, getting back into the swing of snarking with the agents and bossing around his minions in the Q-branch before he admits that he would be unsatisfied anywhere else. In that time Maria Hill takes over as the head of MI6, and she is different. She isn’t Fury, and Tony isn’t sure whether she will be better or worse, but he’s willing to accept the change for what it is in the hopes that maybe, MI6 can at least veer towards better. If not exactly good, because for government agencies, being purely good is impossible. 

And, somewhere deeper, he admits that he did choose MI6 over Loki because he did believe it was the right side. And that hurts. 

He prefers not to think about it. 

Which is not necessarily a bad thing. 

Natasha says it’s a coping mechanism that many use, and perhaps this is just a side effect of working at MI6. Maybe the benefits don’t outweigh the costs. Maybe he will be incapable of having relationships until he retires. 

Maybe the Loki who shot Fury never existed, and Tony buried him the first time, the Loki who kissed him and listened to him talk and ignored his advice while on missions and could never stand still, who loved the chaos of a good adventure and the cleverness it took to make a mission successful. Who loved Tony’s mind. Who could keep up with Tony’s mind. 

The Loki he loved. Still loves, if he thinks about it. 

Part of him wonders if he could have loved who Loki became. But Loki never gave him that chance. 

So he rewrites history, and continues to work at MI6 and occasionally, he remembers what it was like to love a secret agent who went on dangerous missions and came home to a flat in London with a broken gun and injuries that would fade, what it was like to be spies in love. 

Sometimes, it even makes him smile.


End file.
